


Special Delivery (White Lilies for Your Wannabe Lover)

by MidknightMasquerade



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Master & Servant, Mid-Canon, Missing Scene, Pre-All That Remains, Pre-Relationship, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-17 10:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16514990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidknightMasquerade/pseuds/MidknightMasquerade
Summary: Beyond her expansive skillset, Orana retained one secret weapon that ensured she could uphold her promise: the knowledge that someone fancied Mistress Amell. If she could make a match for her mistress, why, all of Kirkwall would come to know of her kindness!(And then, she thought,perhaps Papa will be proud of me, too...)Orana's servile devotion to her master leads her to matchmake her mistress with a monster.





	Special Delivery (White Lilies for Your Wannabe Lover)

**Author's Note:**

> As I continued my second playthrough through the Dragon Age series, a haunting thought struck me: the white lilies did not suddenly appear on Leandra's desk every day, someone had to bring them into the house. While I believe Bodahn would be the one to collect any packages left for the Hawkes, I decided to twist the possibilities a bit to let someone else shine in the spotlight for a moment: the adorable, impressionable, naive Orana.
> 
> If she can think someone like Hadriana capable of good, she would not even notice the evil in Quentin.

When Orana had taken her first stumbling steps into the stone cage of Kirkwall, she, like countless others, found herself a lost sheep in a city of wolves. Predatory eyes set their sights on their innocent victim. Orana did not notice - she had lived her whole live in the lions’ den. Wolves did not deter her. But as the darkness settled across the towering estates, and with the search for her master’s home still in shambles, she turned towards the one safe haven for all lost souls - the Chantry.

It was then, bathing in the iridescent glow of stained glass, listening to the nocturnal hymns of faithful sisters, that Orana changed. The Grand Cleric, having heard of Orana’s plight, sent her off the following morning with one word of divine advice: “do not use your newfound freedom to satisfy yourself; rather, serve one another in humbleness and love - that is the will of the Maker.”

Orana had heeded Elthina’s wisdom from the moment she set foot in the Amell Estate. If her Master had shown her such unsolicited mercy, then she would, in turn, serve him to the fullest extent of her capabilities.

If only she had not started with such limited capabilities.

In Hadriana’s care, Orana kept herself secluded in the shadows where her clumsy antics would draw the attention (or ire) of her mistress. She washed sheets in the street, bathed in back alleys, and exchanged the chamber pots only when certain her former Mistress had vacated the premises entirely. Those were her Papa’s wishes: to stay out of sight, and out of trouble.

 _But Papa is not here anymore_ , Orana lamented, _and I will become a better servant - no, the best servant. I must!_

With each passing month, Orana improved. Every morning after Miss Merrill would stay through the night, she would scrub the mysterious stains from Master’s bed before he even noticed their existence. Attempt after mediocre attempt eventually allowed her to perfect her papa’s infamous soup recipe, much to her Mistress’ delight. Her only memento from her former life - her father’s lute - became a means of enchantment, binding the household to its melodic whims better than Sandal could ever hope to. 

But beyond the expanded skillset, Orana retained one secret weapon that ensured she could uphold her promise: the knowledge that someone fancied her mistress.

The servants had, of course, seen many a man perusing the streets in hopes of bringing home a mistress. Orana had discovered, however, that their meaning of "mistress" differed from her own. When first she had spotted the man who stared at Mistress Amell every morning as she read her book on the balcony, Bodahn claimed that, while their Mistress was a fine sight indeed, sometimes men have...less than pleasant intentions.

Orana refused to believe him. He had not seen the desperation in those bag-ridden eyes. Why, he must have driven himself sleepless thinking of her Mistress! They were surely meant to be. Orana vowed to bring them together.

If she could make a match for her mistress, why, all of Kirkwall would come to know of her kindness!

( _And then_ , she thought, _perhaps Papa will be proud of me, too..._ )

When Parvulis rolled into Frumentum, Orana determined to meet this mystery man face-to-face.

On the day that her resolution arose, Orana awoke with the dawn. Had she intended to accomplish her mission, she would need time. Time and effort and a decent amount of luck. _Dread Wolf help me._

By the time Bodahn stumbled out of his bedchambers, Orana had half the house scrubbed from top to bottom. He admired her work with a whistle. Sandal, undeterred, secured a broom from the nearby closet and chased her about the house, content to compete in this race for favorite servant.

Orana and Sandal had collapsed in a soap-drenched heap at the foot of the steps by the time that their Mistress made her entrance.

“My,” Leandra called from atop the stairwell, “everyone certainly seems lively this morning.” The polish of the parlor stole her attention as she descended the steps. A lavender nightgown wrapped loosely about her body swayed with every step, her most recent read tucked under her arm. The book almost slipped from her grasp as her attention lay elsewhere. “Have I forgotten a holiday?”

Orana shook her head, blonde locks swinging wildly about, still untamed from her earlier running about. “No, Mistress! Sandal and I only wanted to surprise you - without occasion, that is.” She ducked her head until her chin scraped her clavicle. “I hope we have not upset you.”

A thin-skinned finger propped her chin up, revealing a set of smirking lips. “Come now, I was only teasing. A little early morning excitement never heard anyone.”

Leandra twirled about the foyer, eyes drinking in the refreshing sight of an immaculate home. “Besides, how could I care about anything else when I awake to find my whole house tidied already? I don’t the house has ever been so clean!” In that moment, a long-lost light emanated from Leandra’s smile. “You two have done such wonderful work. I thank you.”

Sandal, in return, raised his broom high above his head. “Enchantment!”

Leandra hummed a laugh as she patted Sandal’s curly mop. “And how enchanting it is.” 

She turned towards Orana and Bodahn, back suddenly straight. Orana recognized the stance - the assertion of nobility. It had seemed domineering on Hadriana, but Leandra wore it like a ballgown - beautiful on occasion, but unnecessary in everyday life. “Now, I think I might take my breakfast on the balcony today. Orana, would you bring me a spot of tea? I did like the kind you made for me yesterday...oh, what was it again?”

“Chamomile and honey?”

“Yes, that was the one!” Leandra clapped, praising Orana’s memory.

Orana, in turn, felt a flush wash over her cheeks. “Right away, Mistress. I am...glad to hear you liked it.”

“And you, Bodahn–”

“Don’t you worry, Mistress,” Bodahn interrupted before Leandra could complete her thought. “I reckon my boy and I here can whip you up something to make your mouth water post-haste! Isn’t that right, Sandal?”

Sandal shot a wayward glance at his work station.

“Perhaps,” Leandra cut in, her lips spreading into a grimace, “but this time, how about we skip the enchantment, hmm? We can’t have a fire rune burning down the kitchen.” She paused. “...again.”

Sandal’s shoulders slumped. “Not enchantment.”

With that, Leandra waved them off to work as she retired to the terrace. Orana set to her tasks without a second thought. The water had already been brought to a boil by the time Bodahn and his boy fumbled about with a basket of now-broken eggs and a pile of Mabari meat Sandal hungered to “enchant”. With a splash of herbs and a spoonful of honey in place, Orana piled the teapot and its accompany cups atop a tray and scurried up the steps to the terrace.

Whereas the interior of the Amell Estate sat illuminated only by the dim radiance of a well-worn fireplace, the balconies outside invited the sun to drench every inch of old stone in warm resplendence. Leandra lay in a puddle of light, seated atop a chaise lounge with her book raised high to block the bright rays. Her sundress spilled over the sides, pooling on the patio in rivers of silky fabric. The comforting scent of fresh peonies greeted Orana as she entered, the gentle wave of the wind drifting Leandra’s perfume in her direction. So fitting for her Mistress, floral scents. Flowers suited her - even those with thorns.

Orana, overeager to ascertain the location of her mistress’ admirer, set the tray down with undesired force. The unexpected clatter of silverware sent Leandra spinning around, her eyes narrowed to vicious slits.

Orana recoiled, apologies pouring in instinctive speed from penitent lips.

“Dear Maker, I hadn’t realized you were here.” Leandra placed a hand against her heart, her breath a shaken sigh. When she turned her gaze upon Orana once more, her former wrath had dissipated, replaced instead by what she had was compassion. “No need for apologies now, Orana. You did nothing wrong - besides shorten an old woman’s lifespan!”

Laughter echoed across the courtyard, direct from Leandra’s lips. Orana attempted to echo her mistress’ mirth, but her amusement sounded hollow in comparison. “Thank you, Mistress. You are too gracious.”

By the time Leandra had brought the tea to her lips (although not before blowing away the steam with a stream of cold breath), Orana had already redirected her attention to the streets below. It seemed a lifetime before she could locate _him_. The wizened skin, silver-licked locks, eyes pleading with a woman who would not grace him with her returned gaze. Orana’s heart welled at the sight. Their meeting could wait not a moment longer.

“Is there anything else I can do for you today, Mistress?”

Leandra hummed, mouth still full of tea. “I would like the recipe for this, when you have the time. My son can help you write it whenever he drags himself out of bed. Maker only knows what he was up to last night.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “But for now, I think you’ve earned a break, don’t you?”

With a bow, Orana escaped from the terrace. She hurried down the stairwell, through the kitchen, past the panicked dwarves attempting to put out a minor house fire, and out in bustling streets of Hightown. As she shut the door behind her, Orana found herself already short of breath. Servants had little need for excessive exercise, but Orana refused to allow her ill-deserved fatigue to impede her. She scanned her crowded surroundings for her lovelorn admirer, only to find him vacating the square.

Her foot moved before her mind could catch up. “Serah!” She called after him, a hopeless outcry amidst the endless din of city life. Her hands clutched at her skirt, hiking it up so she would not trip. As per usual. “Serah, please, wait!”

As she approached, the man stopped, spun. Cyan eyes narrowed at the sight of his unknown stalker. Boxed in as he was between the walls and mobs, however, he had no choice but to stand his ground. “What is it you want?” His gaze never lingered on her, eyes already dancing about the area. His hands tightened, ready to wield the bouquet in his hands as a makeshift weapon if need be. For the briefest of moments, Orana saw in him herself - frightened, helpless, approached by a stranger when only escape seemed preferable. _Like a cornered beast._

But Master had helped her find her dreams, and so too would she aid this stranger. 

“Thank the Maker you stopped!” Orana heaved a sigh of relief. “My name is Orana. I’m a sl...” She caught her mistake mid-sentence. _Still slipping up. Master would be so disappointed._ “...a servant of Master Hawke and Mistress Amell.”

The man’s eyes widened at the mention of their name, but he made no move to comment on his newfound understanding.

“I see you, you know. Staring at my mistress, every morning at breakfast time!” Orana pointed up to the terrace. “I must know: if you fancy her, why not meet with her?”

The thin line of his eyebrows curled downwards, casting shadows over tired eyes. “It is...not so simple, I think, to be with the one I love.”

“Well then, why don’t I help you?”

His immediate suspicion did not surprise her. Orana had become accustomed to skepticism. Here in Kirkwall, trust seemed as uncommon to come by as the Blight itself. “You would do that for me?”

Orana nodded. “Well, for my mistress really. You see, I believe she might be lonely, without a husband of her own. Anymore, anyways. And I thought, if there’s someone out there who might make her feel less alone, well then, I ought to make it so!”

“You...the serving girl?”

“Yes,” Orana affirmed, “and serving my Mistress means attending to all her needs. But I cannot fix this need alone. Only you can do that, serah.”

Contemplation overtook discussion for a time as the admirer considered her proposition. “...Well then, I think we might have a deal.” He outstretched the bouquet once clutched tightly to his chest towards her. “Please, take these. For Lady Amell.”

“But serah, who am I to say they’re from?”

“Tell her...” His lips snaked upwards at the ends, a forked smile. “...they come from ‘Q’.”

Orana nodded and cast a glance back up to the balcony, only to find her mistress had disappeared. “Oh no! She’s already returned. I’m sorry, serah, I must go home straight away.” Without turning back, Orana sprinted towards the door. One last call over her shoulder came as his only condolence: “You’ll have her heart soon, serah!”

Orana withdrew into the entrance hall with the quiet deftness of dormouse, but Leandra was still a mother. Mothers always knew when their children snuck back inside late at night, and Orana proved no cleverer than her kids. “Orana?” No sooner had Orana shut the door than Leandra’s form appeared in the doorframe. “Ah, you’re back already. I had hoped you might have gone to market for groceries.” The flowers won her notice. “Oh? What might those be?”

“Ah, well, they’re a, um...a special delivery. For you, Mistress!” Orana extended the buoquet to Leandra, who only eyed them with wary apprehension.

“Not from Merrill again, I hope?” Leandra sighed. “I do love the girl, but I think the Viscount might have both our heads should he discover she’s stolen another bushel of flowers from his private gardens.”

“No, Mistress! This was not the Miss - it was a suitor!”

Leandra stared at her, brow furrowed, lips a thin line. “A suitor?” For a moment, silence lingered in the entryway, only for Leandra to soil it with incredulous laughter. “Now _that_ would be special! Has my son taught you to tease me?”

“Mistress, I am serious! A man has come to court you!”

Leandra opened her mouth, all too prepared to put down her persistence, but the renewed sight of the flowers sewed shut her resistant lips. Wrinkled fingers fondled each petal with delicate hope. That glowing gratitude from earlier resurfaced, only it shone brighter, sweeter somehow. “Well then. I suppose all that remains is to meet this mysterious man, hmm?”

Leandra sauntered away with all too satisfied a smirk on her face. How many times had Orana noticed the same expression impressed on her son whenever Merrill came calling for him? “Make sure those are placed in water as soon as possible, Orana,” Leandra commanded. “We wouldn’t want my admirers efforts wasted, now would we?”

As Leandra disappeared up the steps, Orana hurried to obey her orders. A sense of contentment settled within her heart, knowing she had contributed to the betterment of the lives of those who had done so much to better her own. This repayment could not even compare, but it would suffice. For now.

And, as she persisted in her chores, Orana allowed her mind to drift off to a dreamland. There, in her fantasy life, a handsome elf would watch her from afar and bring bouquets to her doorstep every day.

With this budding romance come to a blossom, how could Orana not wish someone sent her white lilies, too?

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing.
> 
> Also, in my headcanon, Sandal may or may not have a schoolboy crush on the cute elven servant girl living with him. What would their ship name be - Orandal? Sana?? Oral??? Whatever. Let's just hope he doesn't start bringing her white lilies anytime soon, too.


End file.
